Then, sticky from sex and greasy from the midnight snack, Dylan reminded her that ages ago, she'd wanted to take a bath. She smiled and coyly invited him to join her, an invitation he accepted at once.
The tub was glorious, and was long enough to easily accommodate two. They sank down in opposite ends, their feet propped against each other's shoulders. The warm water soothed places in which Melody hadn't needed soothing for longer than she cared to admit. Dylan was impressive in more ways than one, and she let the hot water relax and rejuvenate her, because without all those pesky brain cells getting in the way, she knew she'd be needing a lot more soothing in the near future.
"You have sexy feet," Melody decided, leaning over to nibble on one of his big toes.
"Foot fetish pervert," he said, rendering the accusation totally ridiculous when he pressed his lips to her insole.
She pursed her own lips, debating whether she wanted to get into this or just enjoy the afterglow. Oh, who are you kidding, Hopkins?
"Did you have a happy childhood?" she asked.
He blinked, obviously thrown by the question. "Was all that sex just an elaborate ruse to open an honesty circle?"
"Yes," she deadpanned. "Now please reward my nefarious efforts."
With a sigh, he leaned back against the side of the tub, looking pensive. "It was fine," he said. "Nobody beat me up, if that's what you mean."
"It's not," she said gently. It was worse than she'd thought, if the idea that he hadn't been physically abused was his indicator that it could have been worse.
He shrugged. "Your childhood, what was it like?" he asked.
Melody didn't mind the deflection. She would crack him like a walnut in due time.
"You know Hop," she said. "Imagine that, only less intense and more intense at the same time. He used to play Barbie with me, except we pretended the dolls were part of an all-girl band. He would negotiate higher percentages from the record company for Skipper because she was technically a minor, and they would go on tours and sign little fake contracts and everything."
They laughed together. "So, you basically learned how to be a musician and a business woman," he surmised. "That sounds about right." He gazed at her with those deep blue eyes, wide open and curious. "What about your mom?"
It still hurt a little to talk about the mother she'd never known, but she had asked for this. "She died right after I was born," Melody told him. "An undiagnosed heart defect. So, Hop had to raise me all on his own. Even though I could see that he missed her every day, he did everything he could to make sure that I wouldn't miss not having a mother."
"And you didn't?" Dylan asked slowly.
Melody sighed. "Hop did the best he could. And I love him for it. But it's not the same. He was always so busy-I mean, he always tried to make time for me, but...I still felt that there was something missing in my life."
"I lost my mom a couple years back," he told her. "We weren't close, but...it still hurt."
"It will always hurt to lose a parent," she said. "When I got older, it was a little easier in some ways, and a lot harder in others. I didn't have anyone to confide in during my awkward teen years. I didn't have anyone to talk to about boys." Her mouth twisted. "Maybe that's why I used to make so many stupid mistakes with them."
"Ouch," Dylan said, putting a hand over his heart in mock pain. She playfully kicked at his shoulder.
"I said ‘used to,' didn't I?" she teased, winking at him.
"That you did," he said with a wry smile. "All right, Hopkins, fair's fair. You showed me yours, I'll show you mine."
Melody clapped. "I'm ready. Don't hold back-give me all your childhood pain. Let me soak in it just as we soak in the water in this tub."
"You're so fucking weird," he laughed, his tone affectionate. "All right. I'm just a walking cliché, so don't say I didn't warn you. Born and raised in a small town in Oklahoma. My parents got married young-I'm pretty sure it was because of Grace, if you do the math around their wedding and her birth. I came along three years later. It took two kids for my old man to finally realize he was a shitty father. He left when I was four and my mom … well. Grace has a theory that he made her so miserable while they were married that mom forgot what it was like to feel any other way."
"That's terrible," Melody murmured, filling with sadness for Dylan's broken family. She hadn't had any mother at all, but she wondered if having a bad one wasn't worse.
"She was real strict with us," Dylan continued. "Like, the elders in Footloose strict. Took a lot of her anger out on us in all these passive-aggressive ways. She was always pretty heavy into the religious stuff, and my old man walking out just made it worse." He sighed. "He wrote me a few letters, you know."
"Your dad?" Melody asked, surprised.
Dylan nodded. "I never answered them. What would I say to him?"
"You could let him explain himself," Melody offered. "You could forgive him. Or tell him to fuck off."
"I think that's what the continued silence is for," Dylan said pointedly. "And this honesty circle is officially closed." His hands traced a gentle, teasing trail along her calves until they reached the backs of her knees.
Melody feigned confusion. "But if we aren't talking honestly, whatever will we-"
One hard tug pulled her through the water and onto his lap. Her legs straddled his waist and she could feel him, hot and hard, against her thigh.
"Oh," she whispered, a second before he kissed her.
8
The Texas sun was hot, the rehab center was full of Stepford counselors with creepy smiles, and Melody was so nervous she was actually contemplating picking up a cigarette for the first time in five years. She felt like she was meeting her boyfriend's parents, or something equally ridiculous. Snake was Dylan's brother in music, one of the members of the band, part of a family that had been together for years. She wanted him to like her.
But she knew how unlikely it was that he actually would. She had replaced him, had basically stolen his job for the duration of the tour. So, yeah, she was nervous.
"You okay?" Dylan asked quietly. He was hanging back with her, which she appreciated, but his actions were also drawing the attention of the man in question, which was what she had wanted to avoid.
Rip and Snake exchanged a manly hug, but Snake seemed to keep one eye on her the entire time. Melody wondered if she was imagining things. Was he sizing up the competition? If so, he shouldn't be wasting his time-he had nothing to worry about. Melody wasn't delusional. The life she was building was temporary, and it was only a matter of time before Dust and Bones went back to the way it had been before Snake's bad behavior had gotten him a thirty-day rehab sentence.
And it was only a matter of time before she went back to the way things had been before Dylan; before the night (and morning … and following afternoon) they'd shared. Yes, she had every right to be nervous.
"I'm fine," she said aloud to Dylan's query, shaking her head to clear it. "Just feeling a little awkward. I probably shouldn't be here."
"Screw that," Dylan said in his usual blunt manner. "You're saving our asses. Snake knows that. I'm sure he'll be … " He winced when she gave him a pointed look, likely realizing that Snake McCreedy being grateful to a girl for taking his job-however temporarily-was as likely as a herd of buffalo taking flight above their heads. "Well, he knows what you've done for the band, at least."
"He seems to be making the best of his sentence," Jesper noted dryly.
Snake was gesturing them to follow him to an open area by a pool. He was also flirting rather outrageously with one of the female counselors who, from what Melody could see, wasn't exactly discouraging him. She frowned; rehab wasn't supposed to be about relaxing and having fun. Rehab was supposed to be about taking stock of your life, reflecting on the decisions that had brought you to your low point, and ideally, plotting a better course for your future.
But of course, Snake was under the impression that he didn't need rehab. Melody could almost understand why he thought that way-the rock star lifestyle could be hedonistic. Most of the guys Snake partied with likely equaled or exceeded his level of intoxication. Hell, she'd been a kitchen fire away from suggesting they send Dylan in to keep Snake company.
They all sat down by the pool to catch up. Snake looked different in person than he did in pictures or on television. He was larger than life, tattoos covering every inch of his torso. His face, covered in a thick auburn beard, was thinner than she'd imagined it was, and seemed almost gaunt in places. She wondered how much of that was from the drug use, and how much was just the camera adding ten pounds. He also reminded her, in the strangest way, of her father. She knew Hop hadn't exactly been a saint in his youth; if he hadn't had a little girl to take care of, would he have ended up in rehab at some point?